Flip Switch
by Hey-Fay
Summary: The world has gone to Hell, bottle caps are used as money, and the Vault isn't as perfect as people once thought. The story of Vanth, The homegrown Messiah. Rated M for strong language, gore and sexual themes. OC and Charon... maybe a little Butch later


Chapter One: Out of One Thing and into Another

Bright white light hit her sight like a slap; she couldn't see but the sweet pull of freedom and distant shrieks behind her drove her to practically run from that hole in the ground she'd called home just an hour before. A heavy weight settled on her chest as the sound of screaming metal clawed at her ears. _They're closing the gate. _She thought, fought to choke back tears, and sighed with dry eyes. "There goes home." she said aloud and looked past the yellow and blue spots swimming before her vision as she took in the baron, desolate wasteland. "Well it's better than that hole." She muttered, pushing back shaggy, deep red hair from her eyes, only to pull back a gore soaked hand. She looked down at her faded and frayed blue jumpsuit and well worn leather jacket, blanching at the deep crimson stains that painted her sleeves and soaked her chest. Her breath quickened and an inky, black wave of panic swelled within her as the all too fresh memories came flooding back to remind her of the wholesale slaughter she'd just committed.

She'd been asleep, if she'd dreamed she didn't remember it. Amata woke her up, yelling and screaming about something or another, in hysterics. What she had managed to get out of her is that dear old dad had left the vault and her father, the psychotic overseer, went mad and was now after her. She wasn't too worried; yes she knew that the overseer was a bit over eccentric, but all in all he was a fairly understanding and even at times nice man. She thought she could make him see reason, maybe even let her leave the vault to go get him back. She could tell him that dad just hasn't been himself lately, he forgets things more often than not, sometimes even calls her by her late mother's name; Catherin. She shook her head sadly, blinking unshed tears from the corners of her eyes, and swung her legs over the side of her bed; feet touching cold ground sending a shiver up her spine. She quickly walked to her wardrobe, trying to ignore Amata's hellish chatter as she grabbed one of many faded jumpsuits from a neatly folded pile and began to pull the thin material up her shapely legs and tender stomach, pausing to safely tuck in her ragged grey tank-top before pulling the one-piece jumper up and over her shoulders and sliding her arms in.

"LISTEN TO ME!" Amata screamed, fists by her side as she trembled, clearly upset.

"Amata-"

"No, Vanth! You _listen _to me!" Vanth was taken aback, never had Amata screamed at her with such... desparation.

"Jonas is _DEAD! _My father had him _killed!_" She let out a sob, her shoulders ridged. Vanth thought she had heard wrong, _Jonas can't be dead... can he? _

"A- Amata, what do you mean, 'Jonas is dead'?"

"M- my dad. He, he went off the deep end; started ordering people to find him, your dad I mean. They couldn't, but he found Jonas," she swallowed, eyes shut. "You have to get out of here Vanth. There is no place safe for you now, at least not here any way. I'm sorry." Amata opened her eyes, only to be looked upon by a stranger she hadn't seen in years, one who she'd hoped she'd never have to see again.

"I understand." Vanth said, all traces of emotion gone, expression as unreadable as the vaults blank grey walls. She moved with the swift grace of the wind, buckling her boots on then out the door so fast Amata almost missed her pick up the baseball bat.

"Van! Vanth! Hold on -stop!" She yelled and lunged for the others wrist. Vanth stopped; cold green eyes on the others brown ones, almost daring her to keep hold of the sleeve. Amata shrank back, then timidly handed her a fist full of Stimpacks.

"Here, these were... well... I think Jonas would have wanted you to have them." She took them and nodded. "And here," Amata pulled a .10 mm. from behind her back and handed it to her. ", there's, there's Radroaches everywhere." She murmured. Vanth took the gun, feeling its comforting coolness and weight before slipping it into her belt behind her back.

"Thanks. I'm not promising anything though." She said, voice as dead as her emotions.

The halls were largely unpopulated, a few roaches here and there but easy to take care of. Vanth was so engrossed in her own thoughts that by the time she seen Officer Kendall she'd almost run into him. Fear clenched her heart in a grip so cold it pained her. For almost two years she'd managed to avoid him, and now here he was, just as psychotic as before. He was being attacked by Radroaches, but made short work of them. He turned about the same time she stepped back, and when he seen her his whole attitude changed.

"YOU!" He snarled, yellowed teeth bared, "You little bitch! You fucking little _tease!_" Spittle flew from his lips as he spat the words from his mouth. "I thought I taught you a lesson in respect a few years ago! But here you are again! All perky tits and _temptation!_" He seemed to moan the last word, his eyes slightly rolling back into his head while his hand slowly slid up and down his police baton. He snapped back into attention, crazed eyes fixed on her, "But I'll fix you! I'll fix you again! Maybe this time you'll know what to do when you're given an order to get on your knees and-" He stopped short, the subtle 'click' of her gun silencing him.

"V-Van-" He choked out, eyes gone from wild to fearful as he took a half a step back.

"Bang." She whispered and pulled the trigger. He dropped to his knees, face contorted into a silent scream as he grasped his crotch, blood rushing out from between clenched fingers. The cold stranger was back in place again, all emotion gone except for a black grin painted on her pink lips. Kendall was flailing around on the ground, smearing the spotless floor vibrant red. Vanth picked up the forgotten baton, fingers wrapped around the grip, knuckles white. She squatted down next to him, eyes calculating, and griped his jaw; forcing him to look at her.

"Let's see how you like something shoved down your throat against your will." She said monotone and slammed the baton into his open mouth. She basked in the sickening snap and rip as she forced the stick deeper into his throat; her wicked smile growing as his eyes bulged and he choked and gagged, fingers tearing at his neck as he tried in vain to dislodge the obstruction.

"Choke on it." she growled as he collapsed, body convulsing once, twice, then still. She later realized with a sickening jolt that she liked killing. The thrill of it, adrenalin slamming into her heart with each pulse, the sound of bones breaking and dying screams; it excited her, all of it.

She was numb by the time Butch ran into her, mind blank and body on auto-pilot. He said something, his features panicked and she had to struggle to grasp what he was saying.

"You- you got to help her! Please! I know I've been a real bastard to you, but please, help my mom!"

"Butch-" she blinked, mind still foggy.

"Please," he whispered, eyes filling as a fresh wave of screams pealed out ", please Van, I- I can't go in there..."

Her shoulders slumped and her heart clenched at the desparation pasted on his features, "Alright." A look of relief washed over him and he grabbed her up in a tight embrace, swinging her feet off the ground.

"Put me down!" she gasped as he crushed all the air from her lungs.

"S-sorry, please..." he murmured as she glared at him. She shook her head, trying to clear it, put the gun away and pulled out her baseball bat. Butch looked at her confused, but she ignored him and curtly stepped into the darkened room with the screaming Ellen DeLoria.

There were three bugs on her and she was trying to beat them off her with an empty vodka bottle but not getting anywhere fast. Vanth rushed over and swung at one. The bat connected squarely in the center of its back, crushing its hard shell and bursting it sides causing guts to ooze from the wounds. She swung at another, killing it like the last. A light sweat had broke out on her by the time she was done, and she found her anger dwindle with each crack of the bat. Ellen stood finally, swaying a bit on her feet and muttered something about 'needing a drink' as she staggered out. She let out a ragged breath and swiped the back of her arm across her forehead then followed the older woman out. Butch was still in the hall, pacing restlessly. He turned as she stepped out, hope etched upon his face.

"Your mom's O.K." Butch heaved a sigh of relief and once again caught her up and swung her feet off the floor. She let out a strangled cry as he held on to her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

"Thank you." He whispered in her ear then gently kissed her neck, sending shivers crawling across her skin. She gasped in shock and stared as he put her back on her feet.

"Here," he said, shaking his black leather jacket from his broad shoulders and draping it over her own narrow ones ", your an official Tunnel Snake now." She didn't know what to say, her head spun with all the events that were unfolding. She gave a sharp nod, not trusting herself to speak as tears gathered in the corners of her green eyes.

"Be careful out there nosebleed. It'd be a damn shame if your pretty little ass got killed." He grinned, flashing her white teeth; though guy persona sliding back in place with ease. Ah, there was the Butch she knew and hated.

"Thanks Butch, I'll try." He backed slowly into his living quarters, hand out behind him feeling the way, eyes glued to hers till the shadows swallowed him whole with that arrogant smile still plastered on his lips.

Vanth shivered, even in the sweltering heat her skin felt chilled and clammy. She tried to force herself to stop thinking while she was ahead. Tried not to think about how the other officers looked as they swam in their own blood, about how the way your brains looked as they exit out the back of your head, and about how sweet a baseball bat sounds as it connects with a cheek bone. She tried not to think about Amata, the way she screamed at her to stop, the way her face looked as she realized with sick understanding that her father, the overseer, was dead.

She gagged, the smell of blood becoming too much for her to handle and shucked off the jacket, letting it hit the parched ground to gather dirt. She fumbled with the zipper of the jumpsuit with quivering bloodstained fingers, fighting back the queasiness that steadily built up in her stomach and head. She kicked off the boots and practically jumped out of the ruined material. Her tank-top was soaked through and clung to her chest like a second skin; she cringed and gave the lifeless world around her a sweeping glance before peeling it off as well. She stood there, supple form exposed to the world in nothing but a thin pair of underwear that showed her ass cheeks, and tried in vain to wipe the already drying blood from her breasts. She picked up the jacket and again wrapped it around her, zipping it up to her collar bone. It fell a few inches below her butt, covering her nicely. She stuffed the tank in one of the pockets, shoved her feet back into her boots and picked up the gun and bloody bat, leaving the jumpsuit where it lay. .

It was hot, like I-can-see-the-air-wave hot. Sweat drenched her, running into her eyes and down her back causing the jacket to stick and thin underwear ride up; making her first journey into the wastes all the more uncomfortable. Her Pip-Boy went off, beeping at a monotonous rate as she dragged her overheated body into a burnt out skeleton of what was once probably a nice suburban neighborhood. Her eyes shifted over the blackened bones of several two story houses, senses on edge. Quickly she raised the Pip-Boy to her face and turned a dial, switching it to her map. She was surprised; the familiar layout of the vault was gone, replaced by what looked to be a local one. There was a new option as well. _"World Map?" _she murmured, brow furrowed in confusion as she switched over to it. A large scale map glared up at her, with only two locations blinking their whereabouts.

"Springvale, huh. Not much to it." Curiously she switched back to local, hoping there'd be small green dots identifying people and their location like it did in the vault. It came up empty and she sighed then dropped her arm back down to her side. _Might as well see if there's anything in the houses._ She thought and cautiously climbed over the charred remains of the nearest one. Rubble and grime littered the ancient corps of the pre-war dwelling. A half buried bed frame jutted out of the rubbish like a broken tooth, the mattress missing, and a rusted out foot locker sat haphazardly on its side. It took some work to pry open the dilapidated lid, the latch half corroded away from probably years of harsh abuse from the wasteland. Vanth reached into it, pulling back a dusty bottle of wine.

"Hooch. Just what I need." She rolled her eyes and gently sat it down beside her, pulling out another bottle of wine and two bottles of scotch. The next house had a broken down wardrobe, the glass front shattered out around it and glinted in the waning sunlight, projecting colorful shades against the bleak world around. It was locked and with a frustrated sigh she pulled out a red handled flat head screwdriver and a boby pin from her boot and squated down to get a better view of the lock. A triumphent smile spred across her face, brightening her pale complection considerably as the tumblers slid into place and the door swung free.

"Bottle caps?" she murmered mildly bemused as she raked the Nuka caps off the decaying shelf and into her hand. "One, two, three..." she counted silently, pushing cap after cap from one side of her hand to the other. "Thirty. Who in their right minds collects bottle caps?" She shrugged and stuffed them into her pocket, not giving them much thought afterwards as she pulled out a baseball and three stacks of pre-war bills. _Junk. All of its fuckin' junk. No food, no clothes, not even a damn bobbypin. Now what? _She thought, and turned in a full circle where she stood. There were several pre-war dwellings that didn't look to be burnt to a crisp, and with the steadly setting sun she made her decision.

The first house was borded up, windows and doors baracaded by planks of wood, dashing her hopes of seeking relitive shelter there for the night. A gust of wind kicked up sand and grit, whiping her stiff, blood crusted, red hair into her bright green eyes. Shadows were growing with the setting sun, streaching there dark forms towards her like the claws of childhood nightmares. A lone beam of light caught her eye as it spilled onto the parched ground from under a unborded door, illuminating a empty Nuka-Cola bottle with a beauty overlooked in the wastes. Cautiously she crossed the broken street, crouched down low and eyes shifting restlessly as she reached for the handle.


End file.
